Page 75 of Indie
“Not much of a dad if he beats their mother up. V knew that as much as I do.”
“She would know it’s me, us, if I order a hit. I don’t want to lose her, Demon. I know you can appreciate that.”
“Ok. Whatever.”
Demon left me alone, and I slumped back into the chair at the top of the table, listening to the purr of voices in the pub below me as it filled with bike club members from all around the north east of England.
*****
The chapel was bursting at the seams, the first time in as many years that we’d held a coalition meeting on anywhere other than neutral ground. Two representatives from all the bike clubs sat around the table or leaned against the walls where there were no chairs left. There was a buzz, people muttering and talking in low voices as the last of the clubs piled in.
“Is someone babysitting Demon?” I muttered to Fury, sitting on my right-hand side.
“Aye. Magnet and Reap are keeping a close eye on him. Him and Thrash have squared up to each other already.”
“Fuck’s sake. The last thing we need right now is any more beef with the Notorious. Although I’ll bet they’re behind the business with the cut.”
“Me too, Indie. But that needs to be kept between us for now.”
I nodded, standing to my feet.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming here to the Northern Kings’ clubhouse for the coalition meeting this month. We’re pleased to host this for the first time in years. There’ll be food served afterwards. Help yourself.”
The room vibrated in a low grumble of voices. Thank yous and acknowledgements. To the MCCs, this was an honour to be allowed into the sacred room of an MC. For me. This was a ball ache and a risk. But here we were.
“Just the other day we had a threat against the club,” I started after regular coalition business concluded. “A burning cut was thrown through the pub doors.”
I scanned the faces around the table and those that lined the walls. Shock, confusion, and some showing nothing at all.
“Any clues who was responsible?” Tomahawk, the Valhalla’s Vandals president, asked.
“A few men on bikes. Unpatched from what we could tell.”
“And the bikes?” Brie asked, the voice of the Angels and Demons president coming from the far end of the table.
“One Harley, a Harley copy, and some scrappy sort of scrambler.”
“Sounds like the sort of shit prospects would do,” Brie continued.
“Not for years, though. We stopped most of that fuckery after the last war,” I answered, trying to pay close attention to the faces of the members in the room.
“The Hand has been sniffing around for weeks. And we’ve had issues with unmarked riders trailing us,” Tomahawk continued. “This sounds like a new club prospecting. The Hand have previous for starting up new clubs to target the existing ones in the area.”
“And just putting pressure on clubs,” Tez interjected. “Some of the MCCs have had their bikes stolen. One from Tyne Thunder just a few days ago. Police haven’t got a clue who took them or where they’ve gone.”
“Aye, those bikes are long gone, Tez, mate. They’ll swap the plates and grind the numbers off the chassis. But that definitely sounds to me like a new club prospecting,” the old Angels and Demons president addressed the room now. “We used to do that years ago. Part of the initiation of a new club. But normally, an existing club would sponsor you, support you, because it supported their interests in taking out others. Which means someone in here is helping a new club be born.”
The room fell into a static hush, heads turning to look at their neighbour, to look for a reaction, any hint it might be them.
“Brie, this isn’t MCC territory. There’s no way any of the MCCs would get in on this shit. We know the consequences,” Tez’s voice held a note of panic.
“This stinks of the Bloody Hand,” Tomahawk added. “Their visit the other month was never about keeping up old alliances. It’s all about a takeover in England.”
“Fuck’s sake, Tomahawk,” it was Thrash this time, the Notorious VP, his own president, keeping quiet. “You and your conspiracy theories. It’s probably just another club trying to get some purchase. I suggest we find out who they are and invite them to the table.”
“Not before we teach them a lesson in MC etiquette,” Fury grumbled.
The bang rang out around the room, Tomahawk rising to his feet, a whole note of tension sweeping everyone’s faces. I grabbed Fury’s arm, just as I felt the little movement beside me, stopping him from rising to his feet as well.